


Wings Of Flame; Dreams Of Flight

by watanuki_sama



Series: Shards Of Quantum Glass [13]
Category: Common Law (TV)
Genre: Dragons, Gen, Talking dragons, Temeraire-ish AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 14:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19336612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: The only thing Travis has ever wanted to do is captain his own dragon. Tofly.





	Wings Of Flame; Dreams Of Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on FF.net under the penname 'EFAW' on 06.23.19.
> 
> PROMPT: Dragons

_“If the sky could dream, it would dream of dragons.”_  
_—Ilona Andrews, Fate's Edge_

\---

Breeding grounds duty is a punishment. Oh, no one says it outright, but everyone knows it’s true. No one has attacked the breeding grounds since its foundation. Patrol consists of walking around for a few hours, bored out of your mind, trying to engage conversation with dragons who could care less.

By the second day, Travis deeply, intensely regrets all of his life choices.

As he stomps along, he has three thoughts. The first is: _God, this is boring_. The second is: _God, I’m stupid_. The third is: _God, I promise to change my ways if you give me something against this boredom_.

Relief does not come, but Travis probably wasn’t going to change his ways anyway.

He’s far enough from the entrance that he feels safe enough to sit on a nearby boulder without being called out by his supervisor for slacking. With a groan, he rubs his hands over his face. “I’m never gonna be captain now,” he complains plaintively.

“Are you defective?”

The voice comes out of nowhere; Travis falls off the boulder. He looks around wildly, heart racing a mile a minute, because he thought he was alone.

He finds himself staring into a pair of massive sapphire eyes atop an equally massive head. The dragon rests his chin on another boulder, blinking expectantly. Travis belatedly realizes he was asked a question; slowly, he shakes his head.

“I see.” The dragon blinks again, head tilting. “Are you stupid, then?”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I don’t suppose that makes sense.” If dragons could frown, this one would be. Instead, he scratches his brow. “There are plenty of captains who are perfectly stupid. So what’s wrong with you, then?”

Travis is feeling rather lost. “What?”

The dragon gives him an _Are you sure you’re not stupid?_ look. “Why won’t you become captain?”

Travis pulls himself up with a scowl. “Sorry, I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

The dragon’s eyes narrow, head coming up, and Travis suddenly realizes how stupid it is to piss off a creature twenty times his size. All the dragons at the breeding grounds used to be fighting dragons, after all.

“If you were not intending to start a conversation,” the dragon hisses, “then you shouldn’t have come into my warren and started _talking_.”

The dragon hisses again, sinking behind the boulder. It’s a clear dismissal. Travis takes it.

\---

There’s literally no point to patrolling the breeding grounds. It’s busywork for troublemakers. So Travis walks the border once on patrol, decides he’s done his duty, and proceeds to stake out the warren from the other day. Not that he particularly wants to encounter that ornery, inquisitive beast again, but he’s always been fascinated by dragons, and all he saw was the head. He has no idea what kind it was, and it’s been bugging him.

He finds a little rock ridge and hunkers down. It’s nearly two hours before there’s movement down below; just as he’s working pins and needles out of his leg, the dragon appears. Travis ducks down and watches.

The dragon steps out of his little cave, stretching languidly, and Travis’s breath catches in his throat. The dragon has a long, sinuous body, with spines on his back—spines that, if Travis got closer enough to see, he knows would be hollow. And his colors—his entire face is white, yellow streaks beginning on the crown of his head. The yellow shifts to orange, then red, moving down his neck and wings, and his hindquarters and tail are a smooth, shimmering obsidian.

A Pacific Inferno. Wow. There are a couple in the Corps, but they’re more common in Hawai’i and the Philippines. Plus, they usually only have white on their snouts, not their entire face. No wonder he didn’t recognize the breed.

It’s a beautiful sight, watching the firebreather stretching himself awake. Travis leans in for a closer look.

His foot, or maybe his elbow, dislodges a stone, sending a small scattering of rocks down the ridge. The Inferno’s head whips around; Travis ducks.

“Who’s there?” the dragon growls, wings flaring. “Who is it?”

Travis has a brief, irrational idea to run. Which is, of course, completely stupid. Even if he had a head start, he can’t outrun a _dragon_.

His other option is to stay here and pretend he’s not actually here.

“Who’s there?” the Inferno bellows, clawing the ground. Steam starts trickling from the hollow spines on his back. “Show yourself!”

Hiding is becoming an increasingly unlikely option.

Travis decides to risk it. Slowly, he emerges from the rock. “Hi,” he calls, making his way down the ridge. The Inferno watches his progress with narrowed eyes. “Hi there. It’s just me.”

As soon as Travis gets close enough, recognition dawns in those jewel eyes. “Oh. It’s you.” The Inferno turns away dismissively. “The stupid one.”

“Hey! I am not!”

The dragon merely snorts and resumes stretching.

Travis watches quietly for a few moments, studying the smooth play of muscles and scales. When the Inferno spreads his wings, Travis can’t help but stare in awe. He’s never been this close to an Inferno before. They’re so much more stunning than any pictures could convey. (Most dragons are.)

“I’m Travis,” he says, when it looks like the dragon’s finished stretching and isn’t about to fly off. “Lt. Travis Marks.”

The Inferno scans him up and down, scrutinizing him. Finally, he sighs with a great gust of steam. “You can call me Wes.”

“Wes?” Travis frowns. “Kind of a weird name for a dragon, isn’t it?” All the dragons he’s ever met have really fancy words as names, like Valiant or Regal or Iustitia (which he’d been assured was Latin for justice, and Travis had been too lazy to verify). He’s never met one with such a…a normal sounding name.

The Inferno bristles, spines steaming threateningly. “It is _not_.”

There’s a dangerous rumble in the dragon’s throat and an angry gleam in his eyes. Travis bolts as politely as possible.

\---

“So I did some research.”

The Inferno lifts his head with a sigh. “You again?”

“Me again.” Travis slithers into the warren, landing lightly. “So I did some research.”

“Yes.” Wes sighs again, resting his chin on his forepaws. Travis ignores the baleful look sent his way. “You said.”

“Yeah. Research on Infernos.” Travis climbs atop a boulder, settling himself comfortably. “I learned all sorts of cool stuff. Stats and stories and all kinds of things I didn’t know.”

He waits. Wes ignores him—or he’s asleep. It’s hard to tell.

“Your face is white,” he says, after a mere thirty seconds have passed because he has no patience. “But your colors haven’t faded, and your black is still _black_ , not grey even a little.” He waits expectantly.

He’s rewarded by one jewel-toned eye rolling open and staring at him. “So?”

“ _So…”_ Travis risks shifting closer; Wes doesn’t make any indication that it bothers him. Or at least, Wes doesn’t tell him to go away, which is practically the same thing. “So you’re not that old, am I right?”

Wes stares at him, totally unfathomable. Whoever said the eyes were the windows to the soul never looked into the eyes of a dragon.

Finally, the dragon sighs. “It’ll be twenty years since I hatched, next spring.” 

For a species that can age to over a hundred, that’s even younger than Travis expected. He gapes. “Really? What the hell are you doing in the breeding grounds?” He leans back, studying the length of the dragon. “Were you injured?”

“No,” Wes replies, closing his eyes.

“No?” Travis frowns. “Then why are you here?”

Wes flicks his tail with the same attitude a human would flip the bird. “None of your business.”

\---

Travis could look it up. Everything is available in this digital age, and the Corps keeps records on all the dragons and airmen. It would be a simple matter to look at the data and find out why a young, healthy fire-breathing fighter is in the breeding grounds.

But that would take away all the fun.

\---

Three interactions—not even very _good_ interactions—and Travis is enchanted. He wants to know more. He wants to get closer. There are other dragons in the grounds, probably more amicable and willing to chat, but Wes clearly isn’t impressed, and Travis always loves a challenge.

Besides, none of the other dragons are Infernos.

Operation: Get Close To Wes Without Getting My Face Burned Off (alternately titled Operation: Volcanojump) starts simply enough. At the start of his shift, he does the quickest patrol ever, then makes his way to Wes’s warren. He sits at the edge of the hollow, settles in with a book and his lunch, and waits.

Wes sees him when he emerges, which was the point. It’s not like he’s hiding. The Inferno stares at him for over a minute, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Travis stares at his book and takes a nonchalant sip from his thermos of coffee, a necessary supply on any long-term adventure like this.

Finally, Wes huffs and turns his back, patently ignoring him. He pretends like Travis isn’t even there—until hour four, when Travis gets up to stretch and walk around, and Wes’s head whips around to watch him. When Travis sits back down, Wes goes right back to ignoring him, not even seeming to notice that Travis has moved three feet closer.

Travis grins to himself.

By the end of the day he’s gained a total of five feet on his original position. By the end of the week, he’s comfortably ensconced within the boundaries of Wes’s personal space. Wes is still treating him with the same indifferent apathy, but the plain fact is, he’s letting Travis get this close. If a dragon wanted him to go away, Travis wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight. Because, well, _dragon_.

But Wes is letting him hang around, and Travis doesn’t exactly know what that implies, but he’s gonna take it as a win.

\---

“What are you reading?”

Travis starts, and his book tumbles to the ground. (He saves his coffee, though.) “What?” he picks up his book, dusting it off.

Wes looks at him from the corner of one eye. “What are you reading?”

The low rumble of the dragon’s voice is so unexpected after all these days of silence that it takes Travis a moment to process the question. “Um.” He glances down at the book. “It’s a detective story. A mystery.”

Wes continues to watch him.

Travis flips the book over, skimming the summary. “Um, a woman is murdered, and her prized ruby is stolen—” Travis definitely doesn’t miss the way Wes perks up at _that_ “—and the detective has to find both the killer and the ruby.”

The Inferno’s big white face swings around to face him. “If we find the ruby, do we get to keep it?”

Travis snorts. “It’s just a story, Wes. There’s no real ruby.”

“Oh.” The dragon visibly deflates, and it’s kind of adorable. Not a word he ever thought he’d use for a giant fire-breathing dragon, but it’s like watching a six-year-old sulk. It really is adorable.

(Travis is smart enough not to mention this aloud.)

He flips to the start of the book. He’s already fifty pages in, but for this, he doesn’t mind starting over. “The woman was beautiful, like a doll. Her hair fell around her shoulders like an ebony wave, and her face was a smooth mahogany expanse with sharp, rich features. Even in death, the woman was beautiful.”

Wes listened raptly, absorbing every word. When Travis got to page thirty-seven, and the introduction of the victim’s rival, Wes sits up and declares, “That man in the killer.”

Travis takes the chance to sip his coffee, wetting his throat. Reading aloud for an hour, at a volume comfortably audible for the Inferno, is doing his throat no favors.

Wes takes his silence as a query. “He did it because he wants the treasure, you see.” He nods sagely. “It sounds like a magnificent ruby. I’m sure anyone would do the same.” He nods again, great head bobbing up and down like a fishing lure. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Travis grins and looks down at the book. “We’ll just have to see.”

That night, when he gets home, Travis flips to the end and skims the last chapter, and damned if Wes wasn’t right on the money.

\---

When he arrives in the morning, Wes points with vague disinterest at a boulder that’s mere feet from where Wes has curled up. “You can sit there, if you want,” he says, with a feigned nonchalance Travis recognizes intimately, like he isn’t as eager as he feels. “It might be easier to read at this distance.”

Travis bites back a triumphant grin and graciously takes the seat. “Why, thank you, Wes.”

He counts it as a win.

\---

Wes likes detective stories. He’s good at detective stories, gathering the tiniest details from the text and making educated guesses that are right more often than not.

“You could have been a cop, brain like that,” Travis remarks one day, and Wes visibly inflates, trying to look like he’s not preening.

Wes _really_ like stories involving treasure; stolen jewels, rare coins, hidden treasure, that sort of thing. It’s not something Travis has a ton of on his shelf, so he finds himself scouring used bookstores and searching online for recommendations. Travis has never been such a voracious reader—but he’s never had an audience like Wes before.

They don’t only read. After the second book, they take breaks and talk about anything that comes to mind. They avoid some things; Wes doesn’t talk about why he’s stuck in the breeding grounds, and Travis refuses to talk about why he got punishment duty at the grounds in the first place. But everything else is fair game.

“I’ve always wanted to be in the Corps, for as long as I can remember,” Travis confides from the crook of Wes’s foreleg, his perch starting sometime in the third week. “I’ve always wanted to fly.”

“But why the Corps?” Wes asks, studying him with one eye. “There are other jobs out there where you could fly.”

There are, but it’s not the same. Those are just jobs, dragon and rider, nothing more than coworkers. It’s different in the Corps, a stronger bond, deeper. Captains who would give up the world for their dragons, and dragons who would die to keep their captains safe. It’s the kind of thing that makes everything else inconsequential, and Travis has never wanted anything more.

He can’t explain it. He doesn’t have the words, and even if he did, he wouldn’t know how to articulate them to the dragon. Wes has never mentioned a previous captain—for all Travis knows, Wes is one of those dragons that refused any captain and that’s why he was banished here. And trying to explain Travis’s longing might just upset Wes.

Instead, he clears his throat and shrugs. “Have you seen the Corps uniform?” Travis asks jovially, gesturing to his forest green jacket. “Chicks dig a man in uniform.”

Wes snorts smoke and rolls his eyes, and they move onto another, safer subject.

As the third week rolls into the fourth, Travis hardly thinks of breeding grounds duty as a punishment anymore.

\---

And then he’s reminded all too pointedly.

\---

The meeting with the admiralty lasts more than an hour, and Travis walks out feeling like he’s been skewered and roasted over the coals. He traverses the breeding grounds in a daze, stumbling into Wes’s warren and almost tripping over a rock.

“What’s wrong with you?” Wes demands, squinting at his suspiciously, like Travis’s problem might be contagious.

Travis can’t even muster up a smile. “I’m never gonna be captain,” he reports numbly, sinking onto his usual boulder. “Never gonna fly.”

Wes rears in alarm. “They grounded you?” Horrified, and at least Wes understands how awful that would be.

Travis chuckles, and it’s bitter and cold. “No, they didn’t ground me, thank god. But my career’s stalled. I’m never gonna get promoted.” They hadn’t used so many words, but they didn’t have to. The intent was clear enough; Travis is going to be a lieutenant forever, and lieutenants don’t get to captain dragons.

He lets out an explosive breath, scrubbing his hands over his face. “It’s so _stupid,_ too! It was just so—” He can feel tears pricking his eyes, and fights to hold them back. “It was a stupid accident, and it ended with a building on fire, and no one was actually hurt but apparently it was too _reckless,_ I’d just put a dragon in danger and—!”

Everything he’s been working for, gone in a flash of fire. So fucking _stupid_.

“Come here.” Wes cajoles him over with wings and words until Travis is firmly ensconced in the cozy hollow between his shoulder and forelegs. When Travis is settled and no longer feels quite like crying, Wes huffs. “It sounds like you need a dragon all the more,” he declares. “To keep you out of trouble. We’re much better at taking care of you humans than you are.”

It’s an attempt, but it does little to lighten Travis’s mood. “If only the admiralty would see it that way.”

Wes pauses, clearly rethinking his line of approach. Travis sighs and closes his eyes, burrowing into warm, smooth scales, and waits.

Finally, Wes speaks, voice low and soft. “I can’t flame.”

Travis’s eyes snap open. “What?”

Wes isn’t looking at him, scuffing the ground with his talons. “I can’t. I lost my flame, so they sent me here. Want me to make them a whole formation of firebreathers. So I…I’m not grounded, but I can’t fly either.”

It’s a confession, and commiseration, and a draconic sort of sympathy, and Travis accepts it graciously. “What a pair we are,” he chuckles, letting his eyes slip closed again.

Wes’s wings wrap around them, a protective barrier shielding them both from the world. It almost makes Travis feels better.

\---

There’s nothing Travis can do about it. So his career’s stalled. So what? It’s just another line on a long list of disappointments in his life. He just has to put it behind him and make the best of his new lot, like everything else. Move on.

All he can do is move on, so he shoves the anger and depression and disappointment down, in a quiet place deep in his chest. He pretends he’s fine.

Travis is good at pretending he’s fine.

\---

Wes is sitting there when Travis arrives, chest thrust out and wings rustling excitedly. He’s sitting like he wants Travis to notices something new, so Travis slows his approach and studies the dragon.

“Nice chain.”

Wes puffs up even more. “Isn’t it though?” He jingles the chain around his neck with a talon, heavy silver links clanking prettily. “I borrowed it from a friend. That means I have to give it back,” he adds mournfully.

Travis nods solemnly. “What a shame,” he says, half-teasing.

Wes doesn’t notice, sighing sadly and jingling the chain again. “Isn’t it? But no matter.” Wes waves the issue aside and crooks a talon. “Come here.”

Bemused, Travis does. “Yeah? What’s up?”

In one smooth motion, Wes crouches, forearm crooked. It’s like a set of stairs: arm, shoulder, spine, and it’s the most common way for a captain to get on his dragon’s back when there’s no rigging set up—

Travis’s breath catches in his throat, and then Wes says, “Up, up, between the third and fourth spines,” and suddenly Travis can’t quite breathe.

“Wes?” It’s all he can manage, and it’s a little shaky.

The dragon rolls his eyes. “Just get on, Travis.”

Travis scrambles up before Wes can change his mind, settling between the aforementioned spines. He grips the chain with trembling hands, and he can’t say anything for the emotion thickening his throat.

Wes swings his head around, taking Travis’s silence the wrong way. “I won’t let you fall,” he promises, and it sounds so much more sincere coming from a dragon.

And then Wes spreads his wings, and they fly.

It’s incredible. It’s everything Travis has ever dreamed of, and more. The ground falls away, and the world spreads out before him, endless and free, nothing between him and eternity. He can feel every beat of Wes’s wings in his bones, every shift of muscle between his legs, and he throws his head back and laughs.

He’s crewed on dragons before, but there’s a difference between _flying on_ a dragon and _flying_ a dragon. This is freedom, wild and pure, and there’s only the faintest bitter tang in the back of his throat to remind him it’s only a temporary joy.

\---

At night, he dreams of soaring on wings of flame.

\---

The flights continue. Not very often—it’s once a week at most—but every now and then he’ll arrive at Wes’s warren and Wes will be waiting, silver chain dangling from his neck. Travis gets the sense that Wes needs these flights as much as Travis does, that he’d just been stagnating in the breeding grounds until Travis gave him an excuse to fly.

Travis knows he’s never going to captain a dragon, and he should just accept it before he’s disappointed again.

But a part of him can’t help but hope.

\---

He sees them while he’s shopping with his foster sister, sitting on display in the window. He pauses, studying them. Tisha takes his silent interest entirely the wrong way and drags him off to distract him from his sorrow and lack of future promotions. Travis doesn’t bother to correct her. It’s complicated, and too hard to explain.

But he goes back later, receiving a neatly-wrapped bundle, and as he holds the talon sheaths to his chest he can’t help but wonder what he’s doing.

\---

Wes takes notice of the bag the second Travis arrives. “What’s that?” he questions, stretching his neck and nosing at the plastic. Travis is suddenly reminded of those first few weeks, when he couldn’t even get near Wes without fear, and he hides a smile.

“It’s for you,” he announces, holding out the bag. The Inferno pulls back, eyes crossing slightly as he tries to see the bag in front of his nose.

“For me?” Wes sounds more than a little puzzled, and also a little cautious. Suddenly Travis wonders if maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Oh well. Too late to back down now.

“For you,” Travis confirms, pulling out gifts and carefully unwrapping them, laying them in front of Wes. A pair of golden talon sheaths, embossed with flames that seem to dance when the light shifts. “It’s sort of a thank you for the flights.”

Wes leans close, turning his head one way, then the other, studying the sheaths. “Sort of?”

“Well, yeah.” Travis stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs “And it’s sort, of, you know…just because I wanted to.”

Wes doesn’t say anything, turning his head once more. Travis takes a breath and tries not to fidget.

“Sorry there’s only two,” he says, after the silence has dragged on to the point of becoming uncomfortable. “They had the whole set, but a lieutenant’s salary isn’t _that_ great.”

Wes pinches one of the sheaths between two talons and carefully slides it on, turning his claws side to side and watching the light play on the metal.

“I had to guess your size,” Travis adds, rocking on his feet. “If they don’t quite fit, I can go back and replace them.” Another silence; Travis bites his lip. “Or I can just return them, if you want.”

That makes Wes’s head snap up, eyes widening. “No, no, you can’t, they’re mine!” He scoops the sheaths up and cradles them to his chest, spines steaming in alarm. “They’re a gift, they’re for me, they’re _mine_.”

Travis holds out his hands, placating, and has to fight not to laugh. “Okay, okay, I won’t take them. They’re yours.” Wes doesn’t relax right away; Travis smiles encouragingly. “Is the size okay?”

“The size is fine.” Wes scoffs, wings slowly settling. He slides the other talon sheath on, holding his claws out like a woman admiring a ring.

Travis smiles. “Well, that’s good.” He settles down, figuring it’ll take twenty minutes for Wes to stop admiring himself and his new jewelry.

In fact, it takes closer to thirty.

\---

A few days later, there’s a stone sitting on his usual boulder, the size and rough shape of a serving bowl. “What’s this?” he asks, dropping his stuff. 

“It’s for you,” Wes says casually, but Travis recognizes feigned nonchalance when he sees it. “Turn it over.”

Travis does, and his breath catches. The other side is a geode, a crystalized collection of reds and oranges and golds, sparkling in the sun.

Travis swallows hard. “Thank you,” he mumbles, turning the geode to catch the light. “It’s beautiful.”

Wes preens, and Travis—hopes.

\---

Hope is an insidious thing, creeping in without notice, then exploding with the slightest spark.

\---

Travis switches shifts with Dietz and ends up getting to the grounds godawful in the morning. Barely awake, Travis sips his coffee and trudges to Wes’s warren, wondering if the Inferno would mind if Travis took a nap on his leg. A toasty dragon would be just the thing to put him back to sleep.

But Wes isn’t there. Travis circles the little hollow three times before he decides his sleepy mind isn’t just missing the dragon. Wes actually isn’t here.

“Huh.” Travis says, and decides to wait inside, because the sun hasn’t even come up yet and it’s a little chilly.

The cave is decent. Just a little bigger than Wes, and Travis bets with the dragon curled up in here it would be toasty warm indeed. Humming softly, Travis looks around, amused. It’s just big enough for Wes, but Travis could probably fit his entire trailer in here.

Curiosity is piqued when he sees a glimmer in one corner of the cave. He wanders over, realizes immediately what it must be when he sees a pair of gold talon sheaths. This is Wes’s treasure pile.

Bored and unashamedly snooping, Travis crouches down for a closer look.

It’s not a very big pile. Aside from the talon sheaths, there’s the other half of the geode Wes gave Travis (like a draconic friendship bracelet, Travis snickers to himself) and a dinged silver serving tray that’s polished to a mirror sheen. Decent enough for a dragon of the breeding grounds, he supposes.

He’s already turning away when he realizes that what he mistook for a rock is actually a helmet. It’s scuffed and battered and looks like it’s twenty years old. Travis picks it up, turning it over. Tucked inside the brim of the helmet is a faded photo of a pale blonde with sharp blue eyes. He reaches to pull it out—

Travis doesn’t know what scares him more: the stream of steam that surges over him, or the outraged bellow from the cave entrance. He drops the helmet, covering his face with his arms and staggering away from Wes’s treasure.

“Get out,” Wes hisses, talons scratching threateningly on the ground. “Get out, get _out!”_

Cool air hits his face; Travis cautiously lowers his arms, blinking hard. “Wes?”

Travis has never been scared of Wes. Nervous and wary, sure, especially in the beginning, but not _scared_.

But then, Wes has never looked like _this_.

“Wes,” he says, hands up, placating. “I’m sorry—” He doesn’t know what he did, but apologies go a long way.

Wes isn’t interested. “Get _out!”_ He roars, rearing back, wings flaring. Travis is probably lucky Wes can’t flame right now.

He tries one more time. “Wes—”

The Inferno doesn’t even use words this time, just shouts his outrage in a roar Travis can feel in his bones.

Travis bolts out of the cave.

\---

He does all the research he’s been putting off. He sits at a computer on the corner of the Corps library and searches the database for a dragon named Wes. Unsurprisingly, nothing comes up. He tries Wesley, too, but nada. Which makes sense—he thought from the start Wes was a weird name for a dragon.

So be broadens the search, looks for anything connecting an Inferno and the name ‘Wes’. This time, he gets hits. He opens the first search result.

There’s a picture of the sharp-eyed blonde from Wes’s photo. A picture accompanying an obituary.

_Captain Wesley Mitchell, of the dragon Libertatae, was killed in combat yesterday. He will posthumously receive the Corps Medal of Honor, for bravery in the field._

Travis closes out of the screen before he reads any more. Hope goes out like an explosion in his chest, leaving him shaky and kind of hollow inside.

It’s not like he was actively thinking about it, but he’s effectively grounded and the only way he’ll ever be a captain now is if a dragon chooses him. And he gets along well with Wes, so yeah. A part of him was hoping…

He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “Stupid, very stupid,” he scolds himself.

A dragon calling himself by his dead captain’s name will never claim another captain.

\---

For the next few days, Travis actually does his job, even if patrolling is the most boring thing in the world.

He doesn’t go near Wes’s warren.

\---

“You’re almost done with patrol duty,” Paekman says as they cross the yard. “Are you excited to get in the air again?”

Travis thinks about flying atop an Inferno, the only thing between him and the ground a thin silver chain and faith, and he swallows. “Yeah. It’ll be great.”

Paekman mistakes the emotion in his voice for something else. He slings a companionable arm over Travis’s shoulder. “Come on, man, soldier up. I know you’ve stalled, but it won’t be forever. Keep your nose clean and the admiralty will change their minds.”

Travis gives Paekman a weak smile and doesn’t correct him.

“Don’t know why they’re even letting you in the air,” a new voice sneers. Travis and Paekman both pause, looking over. Captain John Crowl smirks smugly, arms crossed and jaw thrust out. Behind him looms the dark blue-black bulk of Belladonna, the Nightshade he rides. 

One of Bella’s wings is tented over her face, sensitive pale eyes glittering menacingly as she watches them. Protective of her captain, even if Crowl is the one picking the fight here.

Paekman’s arm tightens warningly on his shoulder. “Just walk away, man,” he whispers.

“I’m not _stupid_ ,” Travis grumbles, allowing himself to be pulled past the dragon.

“It’s a good thing you’ll never get a dragon,” Crowl calls to his back. “You’d probably just get it killed.”

And that—oh, that’s just too much.

Heedless of Paekman’s attempt to stop him, Travis shrugs out of Paekman’s embrace and whirls. His fist connects solidly with Crowl’s jaw, and the other man staggers back.

Travis has about half a second to admire his handiwork before Bella rears, roaring in outrage. And maybe Travis _is_ stupid and reckless and all the other things they say, because what kind of _idiot_ attacks a captain in front of their dragon? Travis doesn’t think Bella will kill him, not before someone intervenes, but he has no doubt it’s going to hurt, and everyone is going to say he brought it on himself—

Bella rears, wings flaring wide, and Travis closes his eyes and throws his hands over his head.

There’s another outraged roar, and talons wrap around him. God, he was so _stupid_ , he’s been in the Corps most of his life, he _knows_ better. But maybe he’ll get lucky, he thinks as heat washes over him, maybe someone will intervene and he’ll just get breeding grounds duty again as punishment—

Wait a minute, heat? Bella is a Nightshade. She can see in the dark, that’s about it. No heat-making capabilities whatsoever. 

Cautiously, Travis opens his eyes, and finds himself staring at red and black scales. A dragon roars again, and it’s deeper than Bella’s, more sonorous. Hope, that nasty little thing, flutters in his chest, and hardly daring to believe it, Travis twists and wriggles and cranes his neck.

Above his head, Wes bellows, spitting flames towards Bella’s face. The Nightshade covers her sensitive eyes with one wing, but she’s got her tail curled protectively around her captain so she can’t go far.

They’re just posturing and showing off right now, but that could change any second. They need something to get between them.

Or some _one_. With a bellow Travis can feel in his bones, a massive red-gold bulk drops between the two dragons, bigger than Wes or Bella several times over. Helena swings her heavy head between the two fighting dragons, hissing warningly.

“Captains!” Captain Sutton hollers from the heavy-weight’s back. “Calm your dragons!”

Crowl had been doing so already, calling to Bella and rubbing her scales reassuringly, but it hadn’t been doing much good. Now that Helena stands between her and Wes, she starts paying attention, curling around Crowl and nuzzling him like she’s checking for injuries.

Wes continues to hiss and posture, flames licking the sides of his mouth. Travis doesn’t realize Sutton included him in the order until Sutton glares at him and shouts, “Any time, Marks!”

Travis’s jaw drops. “Me? But I—I’m not a captain, sir!” He’s never going to _be_ a captain. That’s the _point_.

Sutton just gives him a look “You made the Inferno flame, Marks. The rest is just formality at this point. Now. _Captain_. Get your dragon out of here and calm him down!”

Travis is so ecstatic he’s dizzy with it, and hope roars like a volcano in his heart. On the edge of his vision, he can see Paekman gaping, mouth wide, and Travis grins so hard it feels like his face is splitting in half. He reaches out, patting the glossy black scales in front of him. “Wes!” he yells, and the sudden cessation of Wes’s low warning rumble is the only indication he’s heard. Travis runs his hands over Wes’s scales again. “Wes, let’s go!”

That’s all he needs. Without waiting for a dismissal, Wes leaps into the air, steam swirling around him. It’s an insane rush—Travis has flown before, but never like this, dangling helplessly hundreds of feet in the air. Another man might be nervous—Travis feels a rush of adrenaline and exhilaration that makes his breath catch in his throat.

It takes a second to find his feet when they land in Wes’s warren at the breeding grounds. Travis sits on a boulder and catches his breath while Wes curls protectively around him.

When he finally lifts his head, Wes isn’t looking at him.

“Captain?” he asks quietly.

“Well.” Wes clicks his talons together, trying to look nonchalant and failing miserably. “Clearly you need someone to take care of you, and dragons are so much better at it than you humans.”

Travis laughs breathlessly, leaning back, unsurprised to find Wes’s warm bulk at his back. “Thanks.”

Wes hums, a warm rumble that wraps around Travis like a blanket. He closes his eyes.

“Wes?” he says after a few minutes. “I’m sorry about before. I shouldn’t have touched your stuff without asking.”

“You should bring more books,” Wes declares. “I like it when you read.”

Which could be Wes avoiding the issue, or it could be some draconic form of forgiveness. Travis can’t wait to find out.

“I’ll do that,” he promises, snuggling deeper into Wes’s side. He’s warm and safe, and he’ll probably fall asleep like this. Later, they’ll go flying. And sooner or later, he’ll get new stripes on his jacket and a crew of his own.

Captain Travis Marks, on the Pacific Inferno Wes, members of the LA Aerial Corps.

He likes the sound of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Temeraire universe by Naomi Novik, a series about the Napoleonic wars—with dragons! It’s quite a delightful series and I highly recommend it if you enjoy historical fantasy or fantasies with dragons.
> 
> Pacific Infernos and Nightshades are both dragon breeds I made up, not wanting to encroach too much on Naomi Novik’s universe.


End file.
